


It’s Too Early in the Morning for the Divinyls

by GettheSalt



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 16:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1311445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettheSalt/pseuds/GettheSalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz knows that he’s probably been absorbed in his work for  way too long. When it carries into letting him watch Ward’s morning workout, it’s gone too far. And gotten a little too dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’s Too Early in the Morning for the Divinyls

The fact that the mission has been a success was not something that was lost on Leo Fitz. It was hard to mistake that fact when six HYDRA agents had been bound and marched off The Bus and into S.H.I.E.L.D. custody the night before. There had been the now traditional drinks and celebratory pats – he was beat to it by Ward, again, and that was becoming strangely commonplace – before everyone had gone their own way. Ward off with May, Coulson off with Skye tailing him and asking questions, and Fitz to the lab with Simmons. The two of them had decided on a head start on deciphering and dismantling the hardware and materials that they had seized from HYDRA – start now, and not have to worry about it later, that was the idea.

Simmons had thrown in the towel somewhere about two in the morning. Fitz had waved her off, one hand wrist deep into the inner workings of one of the three devices they’d gotten their hands on. He hadn’t been tired then. Fueled by beer and a truly disturbing amount of peanut M&Ms, he was wide awake and raring to go.

But, now, it was six in the morning, and he was getting a little desperate for relief.

“Come on, just...” he jiggled the piece he had pinched between his thumb and forefinger in its socket, coaxing it loose. “There you are. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He beamed at the piece, setting it down on the holotable, waiting for the blinking cursor to appear below it. He tapped his finger on the surface, prompting up the keyboard, before quick jabbing in the location he’d removed it from, just like he had done with every piece he’d removed before that. There was just something to be said for hands on work, sometimes.

He had been so caught up in trying to get that piece loose and labelled, he didn’t notice he wasn’t alone in the lab-to-cargo-area anymore. Trust Grant Ward to sneak in to the cargo bay and hang up the punching bag for his morning routine, without making an excessive amount of noise. He’d probably thought that Fitz was deep into his work – and he had been – and been considerate enough to try and keep it down. It wasn’t until he’d started hitting the bag that he really made any kind of noise. The slap of wrapped fist on plastic, the sharp exhale. Those sounds were slightly less easy to ignore, even for someone as focused as Fitz had been.

Of course he had to do that when Fitz was getting ready to head up to his bunk.

It wasn’t like Fitz’s sleep deprived brain would be unable to handle that or anything.

Not at all.

And if he whined just a bit, it was only because the noise was liable to give him a headache, in his weakened state.

Even he couldn’t lie to himself like that.

There was something utterly unfair about being subjected to the Grant Ward Morning Routine. Even more so on no sleep.

Even more so on no sleep, harbouring something resembling feelings for the root of the problem.

The root of the problem being Grant Ward himself.

All six foot two, muscles and dark hair and killer reflexes of him. Focused and working up a sweat and bloody gorgeous, like every sunset and sunrise Fitz had ever seen.

He was... _so_ tired.

Beyond tired.

...He was staring.

Mouth hanging open, eyes half open, hands clenching the tabletop, staring.

Oh, no, that wouldn’t do.

Especially not if Ward looked up and caught him. He really, really needed to drag himself up to his bunk, before his casual appreciation of the specialist turned into full on schoolgirl drooling and purring or something equally ridiculous.

That, however, meant getting out of the lab, up the stairs, and to his bunk, running on what were, most definitely, fumes.

Well. There was always room for a good challenge on The Bus, it seemed. And if anyone was up for a challenge, right at that moment, it was Fitz.

He reached up, slipping off his lab coat without incident, draping it over the back of his work chair before sliding off of that, and getting both feet firmly on the ground. He was on his feet. This was good. A very good start. Suddenly it didn’t seem quite so hard to get himself to his bunk.

Except for the bit where his extended, private Ward workout viewing session had left him with...

“Oh, god,” he muttered, pulling his yellow and brown plaid button up loose of his pants to droop over his hips. Not much cover, but much less obvious that his body, overtired as it was, was making a case for high interest in prolonging watching the other man.

Oh, this was much more prepubescent than he’d been hoping for.

Even better, his small outburst had gotten Ward’s attention.

This was not turning out to be his morning.

“Heading up to bed?” the older man asked, barely glancing over from his workout. “Or did you get up before me to work on that...” he gestured loosely at the HYDRA device on the holotable. “Whatever?”

“Oh, you know, I just, I was, I,” he stumbled over his own words like he was falling down a flight of stairs, doing his damnedest to stay upright and get out of the lab and to the bunks without incident. Ward was looking at him fully now, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he continued to fumble with his explanation. That wasn’t helping matters at all, but he was just bringing it on himself with every word that fell past his lips.

“Fitz? You okay?” Ward asked, stepping away from the punching bag a bit, one arm extended as though he was thinking about coming over and grabbing his shoulder.

Oh, absolutely not. That wasn’t happening. That would make this minor situation no less than ten times worse.

“Stayed up!” Fitz got out, probably a lot louder than was needed, definitely a lot thinner and higher than he was hoping to have sounded. “Very tired now, going to go...” he gestured at the stairs, promptly walking into the doorframe as he headed towards them. It threw him off a step or two, and Ward was there in that split second, one big, warm hand spread on his back to balance him.

“You sure you’re okay?” the agent asked, suspicion leaking into his tones, noticeable even in Fitz’s state.

He was becoming less and less okay with the way that heat was seeping into his skin, into his muscles, making him want nothing more than to just melt into those big, strong arms, and press against that firm chest, and—

“Totally! Fine!” said Fitz, pulling away from the touch, and making for the stairs. “Have a good morning, Ward! See you later!” He took the stairs as quickly as he could, stomping up them with more force than was needed, but also with more control than he thought he could get out. He glanced down once, catching sight of Ward standing at the base of the staircase, frowning, hands on his hips, watching him go. At least he was leaving the source of his issues behind in the cargo bay.

Clearing the staircase, he walked into the lounge, breathing a small sigh of relief. His bunk, and near literal relief, were in sight. In a few seconds he could be all by his lonesome in that bed, quite literally putting himself to bed, dealing with the lingering aftermath of his private viewing party with the older man. It had nearly been a really embarrassing morning, but he’d gotten out of it pretty much intact, and that was all that—

_Tup. Tup. Tup._

\--Mattered. Or would have been, if not for the sound of shoes on the stairs he’d just left behind him. This had to be some sick joke. Could Ward just not take his excuses of being fine and leave it at that? No. He’d been gradually taking a more active role in assuring all of their well-beings for a while now. Fitz should have expected to be tailed.

And normally, he would have selfishly enjoyed it a little.

It just wasn’t ideal right now, not when he had a situation that needed dealing with.

“Bloody _hell_ ,” he muttered, bee-lining for his bunk, moving as quickly as he could without making it obvious that he was trying to run away. He reached the door and jerked it open, stepping behind it and sliding the door closed just in time to just catch a glimpse of Ward as he came around the corner from the stairs. Too damn close. The door was closed now, though. Ward could just shrug it off, and go back downstairs, go back to his damnable workout, and leave Fitz to his devices.

Dropping down to sit on the edge of his bed, he brought his hands up, starting to work on his shirt buttons. He’d pull on his sleep clothes – a threadbare grey t-shirt, and a pair of red plaid pants – lay down under the covers, and deal with his issue, before getting some sleep. Quietly, but he could take his time if he wanted, really draw out the—

“Fitz?” There was a short knock on his bunk door, and he jumped, clutching his shirt back together where he’d undone it. _You have_ got _to be kidding..._

Another knock, another, slightly louder whisper-hiss of his name.

Not kidding.

He couldn’t hold back the groan, hissing back a testy, “Yes?” Ward just couldn’t let well enough be, could he? Not like Fitz was trying to sleep, maybe. Not like the sound of his voice through the door, quiet and warm, was going to be a problem for the engineer’s already problematic situation. Nothing like that, not at all, no.

There was a pause, and then Ward continued. “Are you actually okay?”

Bless his heart, really. He didn’t know what he was doing. Fitz ground his teeth for a second, going back to his undressing. “I’m fine, Grant,” he answered, hoping that would send the other off.

“You ran into the door.”

Slipping the shirt off his shoulders and tucking it into his hamper, he cringed. “Bit overtired, is all,” Fitz supplied, moving his hands to his button and fly, carefully undoing both, chewing the inside of his lip at the accidental brush of his knuckles against the bulge in his briefs.

“You’re sure?”

Persistent bugger. That would be really nice in another situation, but right now it was just turning into some kind of terrible torture. “I’m sure,” he said, kicking off his jeans and reaching for his sleep pants. “Haven’t you ever been tired, Agent Ward?”

There was a long pause, and Fitz took that chance to pull up his sleep pants and tug on his shirt. He eyed the door suspiciously, sliding into his bed. Had Ward left? Maybe that bite at the end of his last question had settled it and sent the other scuttling back to his punching bag.

Fine by Fitz.

He settled back on the bed, making himself comfortable. He was tired, so tired he could probably just drift right to sleep, but the draw of getting off was too much to ignore. Pressing a hand to his stomach, he slid it down, past the waistband of his sleep pants and briefs, curling fingers around himself and gasping quietly. He’d been more pent up than he’d thought. This wasn’t going to take long at all.

“If you need anything...”

Fitz’s eyes shot open, snapping to the door. He wasn’t _seriously_ still...

“...Don’t hesitate to ask me, okay?”

Ward was _still there_.

Standing not six feet away, all muscles and dark hair, while Fitz struggled to stop stroking himself slowly.

Someone out there hated him today.

“Yeah,” he got out, breathy. He hoped and prayed that came off as tired, and not, well, turned on. Because that was what he was. Unbelievably turned on. “Got it.”

“All right.”

Fitz didn’t answer, waiting a second, trying to be sure the other was really gone this time, before he let out the breath he’d been holding in, and tightened his fingers.

God, Ward had been there. Right there, so damn close, while he was in here, pawing at himself, getting himself off. He’d had the other agent so close, all he would have had to do was slide open the door, and he’d see, immediately, what was going on.

Fitz bit back a small noise at that idea, squeezing himself tight to keep from coming right then and there. Ward, sliding open his bunk door, and seeing him like this, laid out and wanting and unable to keep hands off himself. Ward closing that door and leaning over him, and...

“God,” he hissed, turning his head, biting the knuckles of his free hand, picking up the pace with his other. What he’d give for Ward to be in here, right now, claiming his mouth in a kiss. Something hard and wanting and a bit possessive, something that would steal his breath. And then... Then, Ward’s hand would slide down his belly, same as his own had, and that big hand would wrap around him, and stroke. Slow at first, like Fitz was trying to be with himself while he choked back whimpers, but soon speeding up, bringing him closer, and closer, and...

A whimper caught in his throat, the heat pooling in his belly.

Ward would give him that look, the really focused one, the one that almost always made him feel like his knees were going to give out at any second. But it would be charged, filled with want, and he’d twisted his wrist, just the way Fitz liked, circle his thumb over the head, tease that bundle of nerves just underneath, again, and again, until he was seeing stars.

Kind of like now.

His orgasm hit him like a truck, zipping down his spine and taking his breath away in one fell swoop. Whimpering, he arched off the bed, into his hand, jerking himself through it, trying to be quiet. Trying so damn hard to keep it down, just allowing himself that whimper, and a small, quiet whine, between his teeth. “ _Grant_.”

When he collapsed back on the mattress, spent and satisfied – or as satisfied as he could be, he didn’t have any illusions. He could feel sleep creeping up on him. He was going to be out for a good chunk of hours, but he needed it. And he didn’t feel the damnedest bit guilty for the images that had spun through his head, tipping him over the edge.  He cleaned himself up, disposing of the evidence in the waste bin next to his bed, then rolled over, pulling the blankets over his shoulder, and letting sleep take him.

\---

In the lounge outside the bunking area, Grant Ward frowned, looking towards Fitz’s bunk. The other had insisted he was okay. Just overtired. He’d definitely looked it, and moved like it, stumbling around like a drunk before he’d hit the stairs.

Still, there were quiet noises coming from his bunk, and Ward knew it wasn’t entirely his place, but he wasn’t going to leave yet. If it lasted more than ten minutes, he was going in. There was a good chance that the HYDRA device Fitz had been working on could have had an effect on him. Better to be safe than sorry. If the noises quieted down, he’d leave it be and go back to his work out. Simple as that.

After a few minutes of silence, he checked his watch, turning over the last sound in his head. He could have sworn it sounded like an actual word. Maybe Fitz was just a sleep talker when he got too tired.

Eleven minutes, thirty seven seconds.

All right.

Ward got up, taking one last look at the engineer’s bunk door, before he set out for the stairs and the cargo bay again. Whatever had been going on with Fitz, he was probably asleep now. He clearly needed it.


End file.
